Ghost in the Sheets
by AMRainer
Summary: They had a different way to connect. They always did.


**This crazy thing popped inside my head and couldn't leave until I wrote it down, jeez! Well... although things got a bit out of control - okay, very much out of control - writing this was actually interesting and I enjoyed lol For those who follow my other works, I'm sorry for the while I'm taking to update, but I've been super busy! :( Def of Fam's chapter 6 is on the way and I'll update DM next week (I like these codes don't I?)**

 **Hope you enjoy it guys!**

 **Disclaimer: The characters are intellectual property of CBS, therefore, this is a fan work without financial gain and with the only purpose of entertainment.**

 **Warning: STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT AHEAD (ft. kinky stuff so don't read if you don't like ties, ropes, cuffs, mild BDSM I guess, Emily teaching Hotch how to be a naughty boy - did I actually just say this? okay - among other crazy things because yes)**

* * *

 _2011_

 **.**

Endless creamy legs hidden by deep red silky taffeta strode into the dimmed ball room. Perfectly placed light spots pointed exclusively to the central stage where three beautiful women performed an opening presentation. Her infinite eyes watched the scene, remembrances plundering her thoughts. She vaguely scanned the place in search for that same seat she had occupied years ago, when she was still herself.

Tracing the pathway with hope igniting her very soul, the brunette, whose hair was falling in cascades – shorter than the first time – and whose bare shoulders were drawing attention from accompanied costumers, sucked in a deep breath. She was not that epitome of confidence, not _anymore_. After her monster marked her perpetually, how could she?

 _His_ vixen sat there in the most graceful of the manners, crossing her legs to allow him – he was there, she could sense it – a brief view of her black stilettos. They became intimate enough for her to acknowledge his every breaking point. Hence, she could almost taste how his searing dark orbs bored into that small detail, pleading that he'd see her out of it anytime soon.

He'd _come_ to her, she was sure of that.

And so she waited.

* * *

 _2006_

 **.**

Reckless edged inappropriate to describe what they were doing. It was late – very much so – and everyone else was far away in the safety of their homes. That's what they supposed, at least.

She was bent over his bare desk, head tilted to her left while he tortured her with agonizingly slow thrusts. He had got her hot and bothered, tripping a desperate climax as his hands visited every curl of her feminine body – the body he knew each string he had to pull in order to make her beg. Memories ran his fogged mind, throbbed within him. One rough palm rounded the sensitive skin of her ass, _ghosting_ the flesh, ready to smash such well-built muscles.

White waves of pleasure coursed her limbs, her knees buckled slightly and his light blue dress shirt clad forearms enveloped her narrow waist to keep himself wrapped by her soaking inner walls, buried deep down.

Then, it _happened_.

His lips against her, teasing the nape of her neck for he was conscious enough to recollect their last time. Hot air was puffed there, turning his method to maintain her balanced into a vicious grip on her hips. Fully dressed masculine chest pressed _flush_ to warm naked feminine back.

Strong arms stretched hers above her head in a sensuous movement. He was covering her _whole_ , from their tangled legs to their _sinful_ digits… until a certain fabric brushed the back of her right hand and she found herself at a loss.

* * *

 _1994_

 **.**

A woman like her should never feel lonely, that's what she usually heard from the flirty young men who risked some approaching. She enjoyed the harmless banter – sure thing – but her uttermost arousal sourced from dark haired grown up men that could hold their drinks and bear polished clothing.

Obviously, the Wolf Hall was not a place to find _companions_. Her recent discovery was a secretly filthy – though filled to the brim with old money, new money types – masquerade ball. Ancient traditions stood side by side with _impure_ intentions.

Inside her black satin long dress, the Ambassador's daughter sipped another martini as she anticipated the night's main gig. Her chest heaved impatiently, fingertips trailing the pearls around her neck, entwining such _lustful_ skin in numerous loops. She was dressed to impress, to kill and to whatever might happen.

Her corseted torso was over constricted under layers and she moved her ankles to relieve some of the growing soreness. Such gesture imposed an unexpected fate. _Dangerous_ , maybe.

Chocolate orbs gazed at a vixen, single, _eager_ for a partner just as much as he was. His fiancée existed, yes, somewhere closer to home since Friday nights were saved for themselves, for good times with good friends. If only she was aware, he'd be considered a fool for letting her go.

But that could wait, his _urges_ couldn't. Smoothing his dark green bow tie, he downed the remaining scotch in his crystal glass and boldly headed for the prey.

* * *

 _2011_

 **.**

She looked exquisite in those delicate garments. Much different from the overexposed figure that she so gently formed back to when she was still _healthy_. Healthy, _yes_ , because she transformed her current lack of self-esteem in the most disastrous disease.

That's why they were at the Wolf Hall _again_.

His subordinate explicitly told him her state, how unsuccessfully she had been coping with her return from the ashes. Albeit he tried his best to kindly comfort, reassure her, both of them knew what she was _craving_ for. Their sessions had become an addicting drug which they had withdrawn previously – for the best.

Still here they were, hunting one another like starving animals. Primal, _irrational_ , audacious.

Darkened eyes drank her in, every inch of her alabaster skin concealed by a conservative dress. He sighed whilst shortened the space between their aching bodies, sight fixed on the unique object of his desire. He'd prove to her that any marks inflicted by her nemesis could never overdo how she _belonged_ to him. Even if he had to make her scream whose she was until her lungs burned out of breath.

Mouth blew naturally warm air as he spoke against her ear, his baritone voice almost growling the words she so eagerly wanted to listen.

"I want you", her lids hooded her irises and a sly grin plastered on her delighted face " _Now_ ".

* * *

 _2006_

 **.**

Home alone used to be her recurring reality. Some old friends eventually decided to show up and invite her for a few drinks, matter-of-factly. But that was not one of those nights. She was laid in her bed, eyes staring at the roof, dimness glittering all over.

Bruises still vivid on her wrists, palms imprinted on her nether region. Exhaling sharp, in defeat, she rested patiently. Thoughts distracted her exhaustion and she imagined him going home to his blonde wife. Would he despise her for he was sated? _No_ , somewhere within her knew he'd take her anyway.

He'd make _love_ to her. Calm and gentle.

Still, _her_ scent would be etched on his skin. His fantasies imprisoned to how he tied her up, restrained her, _fucked_ her against his desk repeatedly and until she was exploding at his lightest touch.

She smiled victoriously, dragging her fingers down her dressed figure. _Tease_ , yes, her favorite game. But desires had to be fulfilled. Index and middle fingers slipped inside her - yearning that those were _his_ -, thumb massaged her hardening nub only to ease the pain.

He'd do that, she was sure, because although pain was good and necessary – she taught him that – a natural born gentleman could never make her uncomfortable.

Reluctantly, the brunette withdrew her activities in order to accomplish her plans. Therefore, fingertips traced her rosy swollen lip, his words _haunting_ her like he was there, right above her, his weight sinking her onto the mattress.

 _"Clean up"_ , she did, sucking the pads with devotion _"Tell me how_ we _taste"_

* * *

 _1994_

 **.**

In the backseat of a car, cliché and boring as much as the young man whose hips she straddled. His raven-hair, broken eyes, ingénue and unexperienced, were such a turn on.

Her nails dug on his suit clad broad shoulders, rode him into oblivion. Capturing darkened orbs, she harshly cupped his face, kept it in place, ravaged him in her fantasies while his _unprotected_ sex pounded her depths.

When they came, hard and strong and worn out, it was the best she ever had – put aside his mind-blown state - and the Ambassador's daughter couldn't stop her body to ask for more.

A couple of weeks later, he met her walking around the villa, lost in the labyrinth of green grass and colorful roses. Their gazes connected, so damn _electrifying_ that he found himself unwillingly rushing towards her. Lips rough against lips, longing was pouring as he peeled off her pearly gown in coarse movements. He _screwed_ her right there, between himself, a random tree and the pale moonlight.

It was a mistake they'd never repeat. Yet, it led them somewhere.

The next time, she'd teach him a lesson, one he'd learn with reluctance but curiosity. She knew he had this in him, tamed by life traumas, extreme self-control. He'd let himself loose, he'd let himself express how such pictures captivated him.

And she could almost see the pleased glint on his eyes.

* * *

 _2011_

 **.**

Pastel bricks, posh façade, numerous windows with orange lights glowering from the insides. The chief needn't to warn what this place was. Of course he _had_ to bring her here. Same hotel they visited repeatedly so that she could show him every shade of this wicked foreplay.

They had always picked the most expensive suite – for isolation, that is. _She_ had brought him here; _she_ had booked their first attempt. But as they were enclosed in the elevator, something shifted.

Notwithstanding their desires were claiming every social boundaries they publicly held, both agreed not to display their so secret "behind closed doors demeanor". Still, he pulled her close with a lovingly kiss, mouths lingering the enough to show undying affection.

That's what changed everything, that's what made them give up back then. She deepened their connection, pressed herself to him in all those tempting ways she recognized to unsettle him. Within seconds, she was back against the wall, hands pinned beside her head, mask yanked in the _fury_ of their arousal.

It took all his civility, his focus and the ding announcing their arrival for him not to have her then and there. The brunette woman wanted the past, she wanted to find herself again. Ergo, he tried to convince himself he could give her _just_ that - only if for a night.

* * *

 _2006_

 **.**

Cases, paperwork and two empty wineglasses settled upon the bedside table, right beside where their clothes pooled on the carpet. Painted with all those glimmering D.C.'s shadows, _his_ vixen formed a beautiful figure which he just gawked for as long as he could.

Her wrists were tied up together to her bed's headboard as they caused her slim body to stretch gloriously. She couldn't see, his daily work tie served as a poor blindfold therefore he just _savored_ her, watched her taut muscles anticipate his touch. It was _breathtaking_.

The knowledge that she had exposed herself to him, _trusted_ him with all of her, shed a different emotion inside her partner. Tossing and turning, exploding in the dark, and he found out there was something else there. It was not just this casual affair.

He kneeled between her thighs, covered her body in one smooth motion. Fingertips fumbled with the rope knots – they were made strong, to leave _possessive_ bruises – as he let her go.

Doubt clouded her mind as his naked form brushed against hers, unhooding her eyes therefore she could take in the warm way they lay close. Nuzzling her flushed cheeks and the crook of her neck, their palms pressed together onto the mattress as he surged forward in slow motion.

He waited for her to adjust, he let her touch him everywhere, he allowed her to simply wrap her legs around his waist as her orgasm hit her in proportions she _never_ expected.

* * *

 _1994_

 **.**

His first lesson had been clearly the most complicated. What he lacked in experience, he compensated in concentration and enthusiasm. It was enough to make her come in ragged pants, arms wide open as he had them tied to each side with ropes – he liked them better, the material more solid but still malleable.

Next time, he experimented with the black and dark purple flogger, danced with the thongs all the way down to her flat stomach, lashed her skin to warm up, all her muscles twirling wildly in _need_. The Ambassador's daughter was quite sure he researched, he _enjoyed_. And so did she.

 _He_ was the reward, she liked the idea and it played to his male pride in ways he wasn't quite sure why. It made him stay after hours reading new ways to _please_ her, to make her writhe under his mere heated gaze.

There was this one somber night.

His fiancée was scandalized with the book she had found among his new study – they had moved to a bigger condo. He came up with an excuse, told her it was part of this new position he was seeking at the bureau. The blonde didn't buy it, but their wedding was way too close to recall.

* * *

 _2011_

 **.**

Vertical seemed more interesting to explore, he had learned. However the chief realized the time had passed by, they now had further limitations, he couldn't help but to use that same loop on the ceiling to hook silver chains whose ends were made to support a slender body wearing leather restraints.

He stripped himself of his clothes right in front of her, under her intent stare, helpless and endearing and never breaking contact with his. There had been a long period since the last time they had anything like it. The younger woman was _anxious_ , stomach twisting right below another man's mark. She needn't to verbally say so, he could read her like an opened book.

Every touch, every breath, every move. It had been quite too much for her to take. His mouth nibbling and sucking her collarbone, going upright her neck. An unmatched material - she haphazardly recognized as his slacks - brushed against her ass, against her long inner thighs. He wouldn't take her there, bound mercilessly in that very same spot he accidentally uttered his feelings in the midst of a session, many years ago. _No_. He'd play with her first, he'd get her ready.

Although the dark haired man wasn't particularly fond to use personal items, something reminded him of his baton. He struck her tender flesh with it, caressed where her waist was narrower, drawn each visible rib below her thin torso, played to the swell of her full breasts, meticulous in pressure until a certain tone graced her voice.

It was _raw_. Work and pleasure and pain and those mixed sensations together.

* * *

 _2006_

 **.**

Another cheap motel, another vanilla night. Idly, the younger woman wondered where he was trying to get with that. This before two in the morning decided to awake him, to have him curling around her, rubbing his hard shaft to her slick slit. She was tired, though, they had a tough case.

And, somehow, such daring act pulled his string once again.

Bare feet hit the ground, stood in front of the bed for seconds before his bare image reached for the last thing he had in store: his handcuffs.

Surprisingly, he jerked her to the bed's edge still in her slumber, weariness on her features and unnecessary shock when the simple blanket fell to the floor. He had her grip on his biceps subdued with a couple of moves, the clink as he cuffed her making the brunette swallow thick, _audible_.

"Bite the links" his smug grin gave her no space to protest, to complain at all for such change in his behavior as she obeyed, the taste of cold metal on her tongue "You come when I give you permission, did you hear me?"

"Yes, _Sir_ " keen and efficient, slightly choked between gritted teeth.

His hands closed her legs, kept them together whilst he shoved _both_ of her feet over his broad left shoulder afore he entered her in one aggressive push. It was _tight_ , her walls clamped his sex, giving him almost no space to move. Painful at first, but goddamn when hadn't it been good?

Her back arched, left the surface as every short thrust, every flex of his hips as drove into her made _his_ vixen experience a sensory overdrive. She climaxed to his low, rich voice giving her a leeway, screamed his given name.

He was hers; she, his. And so it was a last time they ever needed this for what it felt like eternity.

* * *

 _1994_

 **.**

That Friday, he had been at his _worst_. Somewhere within he blamed her, she was aware. Her wrists were enveloped with silver duct tape as he gaged her with his own blue tie. He had the crop – his favorite, she noticed – and so the older man applied it roughly to the sensitive skin of her thighs, her sides, elicited shuddering waves to cross her body.

Rage flew uncontrolled through his veins, adrenaline taking control of his actions as he threw the object away and pulled her closer to where he stood, straining her arms in that precise intensity that had her reeling.

Without second guessing, he gathered the spreader bar left somewhere on the floor and secured them around her ankles, almost causing her to lose balance as the object was set to its best length.

A cane was next, careful against her rear as she bent forward with hands fisting the cotton fabric protecting the comfy bed. Tears pricked her eyelids mixed to sharp intakes of breath and it draw his attention to her limits.

"Blue", it had been the color of her dress when they had the first session, thus they stablished as her safe word.

His plans were changed, but as he discarded the cane, a much more interesting thought stole his mind.

The dark haired man acquired some lube from her bag, spread a bit both on her entrance and her toy on his hands. Slowly, he _fucked_ her with it, used his other hand to circle her clit in order to soothe her nerves. They had never tried this, _never_.

But as he settled it deep within her, lining his erection to her core with a tiny hesitation, she bucked her hips to engulf him faster, even as the marks on her ass caused her to tremble.

Vibrations and his frantic pace mingled, sent her falling over the edge almost into _incoherence_. He puffed hot air on the nape of her neck, the smell of depravity and the sound of flesh against flesh took place.

And if he told her he'd get married soon, that he had to stop seeing her, it wasn't quite a surprise when he actually _didn't_.

* * *

 _2011_

 **.**

 _Free_. That's how she felt exactly when her partner finished teasing every curve of her body and sank on his knees right in front of her. His mouth sucked her hard nub with passion, showed her just what _she_ did to him. He hadn't shaved completely, his jaw rubbed to her lips as he devoured her completely. _Controlled_ , very much so, he skimmed her waist and hips, palmed her breasts as he released the nipple clamps.

"Please, please, let me come, please" tension pooled between her legs, his expertise tongue leaping against her damp folds.

He eyed her quickly, disconnected his ministrations therefore he could mouth to her, _"Come"_

The younger woman couldn't quite point what made an earth-shaking orgasm blow her in a loud, releasing moan. Perhaps his _demanding_ tone, maybe his own activities or the contrasting objects. A lot of options were possible in those delicious aftershocks.

She was _beautiful_. Contorting in pleasure as he gave her exactly what anyone ever could. It was different, more profound, more intimate than two colleagues sleeping together. _No_ , this was and had always been so much more.

He was back on his feet, his hands tried to help her standing as the restraints had been let go. Yet, she crumbled to the floor before he could hold her still.

Despite what the younger agent asked him, the chief couldn't refrain from kissing her with outpouring love, his hands cupping her cheeks as he pressed his lips to her the salty droplets on her forehead.

There was this different gleam on her eyes, flaring for the cellars, grateful she was even _alive_ , healed in unspeakable ways. Paris had been hell, Doyle had been hell, Interpol had been hell, her mother, everyone, _everything_ …

She was tired to be the one leaving, vanishing away just as she did years ago, when they had a prospective, when he told her he'd leave his - late - wife in order to be with her. And if he indeed had delayed his marriage because of her, she'd never even know.

"Whose you are, _Emily_?", he murmured, snuggling her closer as they sat limply on the carpet.

Using barely a tone above a whisper, she gave him the words that got them here in the first place, "Yours, _Aaron_ , I'm all yours".

* * *

 **I have sinned and hope to see y'all in hell :D Oh, and please leave a review, I'd love to hear from you!**


End file.
